Touches
by Stephxy
Summary: Summary: This fluffy one-shot separately discusses the favorite "touches" that Castle and Beckett have come to discover about one another. Author's Notes: Just a quick piece before I dive back into "Patient", my multi-chapter WIP. Thank you to everybody who has read and enjoyed my previous fics, and especially to those who have reviewed. All of your support is much appreciated.


**Touches – A Castle FanFiction**

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with Castle, ABC, Disney or related parties.**

**Summary: This fluffy one-shot separately discusses the favorite "touches" that Castle and Beckett have come to discover about one another. **

**Author's Notes: Just a quick piece before I dive back into "Patient", my multi-chapter WIP. Thank you to everybody who has read and enjoyed my previous fics, and especially to those who have reviewed. All of your support is much appreciated.**

He does this thing when we are lying together, usually after making love, when we are in that half-conscious place between post-coital bliss and sleep. No matter how we are twisted together, he pulls his hands, with splayed open fingers, down the expanse of my skin he is closest to, as if to cover as much surface area as possible. He runs his opened hands across my back, pulling us impossibly closer together, and then rests them on my shoulders, so that our faces are touching. His thumbs are at the ledge of my shoulder, where it meets my arm, and his little fingers are teasing my neck. He spreads his fingers so that they cover the entirety of my shoulder, always touching me somewhere, everywhere.

We kiss slowly, lazily, without limitations as his hands move so measured that it is almost imperceptible, but somehow, without remembering how they got there, his fingers are tickling me at the small of my back. He is millimeters away from where the sheet that covers my bottom half begins, at the base of my spine. I bite my lip as his hands move up my sides, sending shivers into the core of me. He moves on top of me, and I can feel his weight possessively as his hands travel up my back again, and I can feel each one of his fingers as my nerve endings respond to them.

I can feel him through the practically non-existent fabric between us. I can feel how hard he is, and I am absolutely certain that he can feel how ready I am for him, how the sheet pressed against my center has absorbed the evidence, leaving a spot of wetness behind.

He grabs me across my hips and pulls me gently off of him while he flips onto his back. As I start to climb on top of him, his hands are back, grabbing for my hips that he had lost momentarily. He moves his thumbs downward and presses, quickly looking up at my face as I jerk reflexively at his movement. He moves his hands to my lower back, and then up again, pulling me down to his mouth. He never moves his hands from my skin.

The sheet rides just above my bottom, but it is no longer between us. As we kiss, we move against each other, moaning into each other's mouths as I grip the bed on both sides of his head. I move back, and his hands move lower. I release him from in between us with a spring, and position above him to take him into me. His hands are at my hips again, and they move under the sheets to hold my ass as I sink slowly onto him, biting my lip again.

My eyes want to close, but the shine of his stare wills them open. I watch him in return as he fills me, and then stills for a moment as I adjust, moving his hands just a bit further up to rest on my back. I move first, as I most often do. He usually waits for me, and it's another one of those things that he does…

His hands are everywhere. He loses the attention span he pays to every singular part of me, and just _moves_, just _touches_. He moves with an intensity that is impossible to keep track of, as I remain in the proximity of his face, his shoulders, his chest. I love to touch him, but one of those things I love about him is how he _needs _to touch me.

From the moment we are on our side of the bedroom door, his hands never stop exploring. At times they are light, phantom touches; others are possessive, defining what's _his. _When he strokes my back as I drift to sleep, I smile without meaning to, because it feels so close to the best I have ever felt.

So yeah, he does this thing, when it is him and I and the world is locked outside, when his hands and fingers and mouth are always somehow connected to some part of me. It is sexy and flirty, sometimes childlike, sometimes annoying. Sometimes it makes me want to cry, and sometimes I do. It is a connection, literally, that I never knew existed before, even as he sat three feet away from me for years.

He tells me not to think about that now, that it doesn't matter. He's right, because I know that I wouldn't change a moment of it if it meant that I could always be the recipient of these perpetual touches.

She does this thing when she thinks that I am not on the same page as her, or when that I am not giving her the attention she needs. She has been amazing and understanding when I take the time I wish I didn't have to to write. I have never been more annoyed by the margins and restrictions of deadlines and contracts.

Sometimes, though, there are times when she is not willing to wait, when she reveals to me that she is a creature that actually _needs_. It might be an interruption, but I need it to, I always do.

She grabs the back of my head by my short hair and pulls me to her with her hands in tiny fists. I had never known before we came together how actually _small _her powerful hands are, but it doesn't matter as she draws my lips to hers, only releasing her balled up fists when we are secured to one another. She releases the control by spreading her palms across the area she may have been too aggressive with, whimpering into my mouth.

It's difficult not to smile against her lips, hearing her _need _like that, feeling the way it vibrates in the back of my throat. She holds me to her by hands covering the circumference of my head, then moving down to my back before coming back up to stand on tip-toes as those fists grab at me again.

In bed, when she needs more of me as I am drifting off to sleep, she sometimes gently grabs at my ears, but with enough burn to pull me from my reverie. I am always greeted, as I am confused and open-mouthed, by her smile. It is another silent apology for being just a bit too rough or needing just a bit too much. It is adorable, and elicits an immediate response from me, and whether she knows it or not, she will never have to apology for needing me.

Those late night couplings in the dark are always when she starts to show an element of control, with hands and fists grabbing, legs wrapping and grasping. She quickly softens, letting me take care of her. She likes when I whisper in her ear, and shivers when I run a single finger down her back. She likes to be still in each other's arms and listen to each other breathe, and she loves to kiss, slowly, languidly and until we are breathless.

I am a lot like her, in that the things that I have discovered she enjoys the most are the things that make my heart soar. They are the things that feel so damn good when we are in each other's arms, looking into each other's eyes in the middle of the night, falling asleep together.

That _need_ she shows me is important too. It reminds me that she is in this, that it means to her what it does to me. When she balls up her hands and reaches behind me, grabbing my hair and matching the scrunched up, intense look in her face with the state of her fists, I am reassured. I am still a man that needs to have my mind set at rest. To know that she wants to hold me, wants me to hold _her_, strong or softly, is comforting.

The energy that exists between us has been there for much longer than we have, as a true, legitimate couple, moving together and in the right direction. Sometimes it can get lost in translation just in the act of touching, making love, and we have to learn the way we both move, and our motivations behind those movements. I'll wait as long as it takes for us to get it right, for it to be perfect for her, for us. Until that moment, she can grab as hard as she wants.


End file.
